


stay (for me)

by junesangie



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Making Up, Relationship Problems, Relationship Trouble, everything almost falls apart but it doesn't!!, someone give Seonghwa a hug, this is a mess, yeosang lost it for a hot second
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24823669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junesangie/pseuds/junesangie
Summary: yeosang knows he can't be angry. not when he's the one getting distant. not when seonghwa just wants someone who won't run away.he knows it shouldn't feel this good, baring his teeth and chewing him out. but it's better than being left alone.
Relationships: Kang Yeosang/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	stay (for me)

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone! to let you all know, this is my first work on ao3, and i'm hoping you'll all enjoy it. 
> 
> p.s. my name is mars, and i'm typically open for ship & fic requests. comment below a trope or pairing you'd like to see next!

“Yeosang, I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.  _ You _ were the one decided to fuck me over, and you’re not even sorry.”

“Yeosang,  _ please. _ I didn’t mean for  _ any  _ of this to happen…” Seonghwa’s eyes are pleading, just as his words, the velvet undertones replaced by disgraceful tears that he can barely hide any longer. He’s tired, face burning, chest sinking as Yeosang’s biting words dig ever closer to his heart. Like shrapnel, he thinks, all coherent words gone as his words dangle between them. Dangerous. Vulnerable.

Painful.

Yeosang watches as the elder begins to break. Feels a sickening kind of satisfaction, watching the bright, beautiful Park Seonghwa crumble at his hand. He’d known what he was dealing with the moment they’d stepped into each other’s atmospheres. Their cards had been dealt; their lines were given. But the improvisation had gone too far this time. Too far for even Yeosang to take it back.

Besides—how would it feel to own up to this? To vocalize how he loved that his anger—his false wounds—seemed to bring Seonghwa to his knees? 

He knows it’s wrong. But above all that, he just wants to hurt the elder. All he has known of love was  _ him _ , and  _ them _ , and now  _ everything  _ is gone. All because he’d opened his mouth for one stupid second and ruined everything.

But he only glares. Forgets that this had all been his own doing, and starts up his very same argument once again: “I told you that Hongjoong was bad  _ fucking _ news!” Teeth gritted, he takes a simple step forward, eyes gleaming with an inferno that’s never surfaced until this very moment. “And all you did was run straight to him after you  _ thought _ you found me with San!”

In truth, it isn’t Seonghwa’s fault. Not in the slightest. But it is oh so much easier than blaming himself, which he has never, ever managed to do. Not without the help of the man he trusted most in the world, whose emotions he now pummels into the concrete beneath his shoes.

Shoes that Seonghwa had bought him. Just like the lip gloss they shared that morning, unknowing that the other would be sporting that very same shade of silver-candy pink. As if they would have to hide the prints of gentle kisses from prying, teasing eyes; from those who judged with abandon, never ceasing to think of the ridicule Yeosang and his lover both had already been through.

And, as if a switch has been flipped, his cold glare melts. What has he been  _ thinking? _ What kind of fool has he been to let this ruin the past week for him? For Seonghwa…?

Tears now carve their glistening fingers into tourmaline cheeks, coffee-colored irises quickly losing their glow as seconds tick by, Yeosang all the while struggling to apologize with full sincerity. Seonghwa feels uncomfortably warm in the puffy coat he wears, body stilling aside from the occasional hiccup as he swallows every audible sob. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he can feel two fingers brush the movie tickets from last month. It’s at this he nearly breaks, remembering how sweet that night had tasted; the flavor of cherry slushies and buttered popcorn still exploded over his tongue, grasping blindly at the feeling of Yeosang kissing him over the glove compartment, praying it wasn’t one of their final cherished moments.

A groan, mixed into one of his pathetically muted cries, escapes those plush lips, sleeve burying the noise to no avail. He can feel the pulsing of his weak heart beginning to fail, hairline cracks spiderwebbing across the surface much too quickly than should be possible. It has to be some unnatural one-eighty here; a point where they will split, then never speak to one another again. And even though he’s the hyung, the glue of their group, the mother to all who require it—Seonghwa knows that he isn’t ready. 

He isn’t ready to lose Yeosang. Not when they’ve come so far together.

It will kill him to let go. That much is clear as he scrubs the tears from red-rimmed eyes, nearly collapsing on his knees to beg for his lover’s forgiveness.

Yeosang takes a single step closer, gathering his emotions, summoning the nerve to do what at first seemed so unnecessary in their relationship. He thinks of every time Seonghwa had flung himself into his arms, joyous and excitable upon his arrival to practice, even though they saw each other every day. He thinks of the moments in which pretty, shy grins were exchanged in the midst of an interview, or a conversation with the others. And his mind, of course, will always manage to wander back, into what he knows they would have missed the most:

Tender, sugary kisses over American ice cream. Minty pecks on the lips, just after brushing up for the morning. Sweaty, fervent makeout sessions in Seonghwa’s dressing room, costumes just barely avoiding their doom at the elder’s eager hands, fingers and tongue more impatient than a child completing their chores in order to receive a treat. Because they know each other’s bodies better than their own, and it is clear that separation will only grow resentment—not fondness.

It’s like depriving a koi fish of its pond. The ecosystem would still thrive, short of only one fish. But the creature itself would not survive without the home it had so often taken for granted.

Yeosang supposes that he would be the fish. This would mean Seonghwa is the pond. Clear and cool, steady and still. Dependable, even when the rain comes down in droves and lightning crackles across the heavens.

Calm and supportive, even with nothing to gain from those who flock to him in droves.

The younger’s hand unfurls slowly, fingertips grazing tear-stained cheeks. He cups Seonghwa’s jaw on one side, then on the other, bearing the weight of its resemblance to the stupid joke about his lover’s face being a flower. His thumb strokes through salty, shining tracks, smearing tears into the other’s flesh. For even with dripping eyes and sinking sunlight in his gaze, he is still ever so beautiful. “Hwa?” Yeosang winces, hating the way his voice wavers, and tries again, jaw winding as he forces himself to speak. It needs to be said. This is his fault, after all.

“ _ I’m sorry. _ ”

And that is all it takes to make him lose it. He melts into his lover, saline staining his shoulder as it practically pours, like the storm inside his mind has finally been released. “I’m so  _ fucking sorry, _ Hwa… I—I was stupid, and  _ jealous _ , and I didn’t mean to —”

“I know, Sangie.” Seonghwa’s voice is like balm to the ugly burns Yeosang has inflicted on them both, soothing and stinging all at once while the true guilt derived from his actions plunges into every listless vein. Had he heard it shake, save the moments his breath trembled out of shivering lungs, caught in the throes of pleasure or contentment with Yeosang alone? The hand rubbing his back, ignoring the unsavory feeling of fabric being brushed the wrong way up, is a more-than-welcome comfort. “It’s alright. I didn’t—I should have helped you…”

“No.” He clings tighter to Seonghwa, a hand reaching beneath his arm, toying with flowery-smelling blond hair as the tears begin to gradually slow. “It’s my fault…” Burying his face in the hollow of a pale, slightly-wet neck, he draws a breath to mirror the one taken before his, another sob causing his shoulders to jolt. The gloss seems intent on imprinting to his own hair, by the way Seonghwa is so fiercely pressing his lips to Yeosang’s chestnut locks.

Yeosang is sure, as wet kisses are planted along his collarbone, beginning to trail up to his jawline, that he defies the message his tears have sent. He no longer desires jealousy or bravado, or any of those stupid ideals that people so often wrongly romanticize.

He just wants Seonghwa. And Yeosang knows he wants him, too.


End file.
